


Why Bother?

by hi_irashay



Series: Pinkerton Project [4]
Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: But whatever, F/M, FEELINGS AU, Feelings Hour ft. the Avengers, I have a problem where I give characters more Feelings than they probably have, Or than a normal person needs to have, Self doubt is a bitch, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-24
Updated: 2013-11-24
Packaged: 2018-01-02 13:13:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1057193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hi_irashay/pseuds/hi_irashay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Making a different call can reverberate in a variety of ways - the good, the bad, the ugly, and the beautiful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why Bother?

**Author's Note:**

> THE INSPIRATION: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EUm5-1x1LfA
> 
> THE CHALLENGE: 1) Characters whom I had never written. 2) Writing about something that is actually a thing (vs. making up something entirely or whatever). Please don't be mad if I made it totally awful? We can call it an AU?

Clint scrubbed a calloused hand across his face. It had been the longest day of an already too long week, but from the triumphant look on Fury's face it was about to end. _Finally._

It had started with an order - an order to kill the Black Widow on sight.

It had continued with a gut feeling - the overwhelming sensation of a kindred spirit, of soulful eyes in an otherwise soulless face, trying desperately to escape infinite layers of shit.

It had deepened with a disobedience - making a different call and lowering the bow, firing words instead of arrows in to the Widow's heart.

It had ended with a barrage of expletives, insults, and threats - no, no, it had ended with the Widow in interrogation with Fury, finally showing some sense. She would come to their side.

Through tired eyes, Clint regarded the redhead on the other side of the glass. Though her affect remained stoic, no amount of brainwashing or training could hide the bags under her eyes. _Girl is tired,_ Clint thought. _We're all tired. Enough already._

With one last satisfied smile, Fury exited the interrogation room, leaving the Widow - Natasha - sitting alone, staring at her hands. There was something about the way she looked in that moment, so cool and calm, that made Clint feel as if he needed to be next to her. _Though,_ he thought ruefully, _it could just be that dress._

Clint had brought Natasha in wearing a rather tight, rather low cut dress. She was still wearing it now, and even after days of interrogation it still hugged her curves as if it were painted on. She oozed sensuality as much as she radiated fatigue. _Sexual attraction is one of her weapons,_ Clint reminded himself. _It's not real._ A pause, and then - _this is going to be FUN._

"Barton!" barked Fury, entering the observation room. "You may not have fucked up as badly as I thought. Ms. Romanoff is going to work with us after all."

"Bully for us." Clint responded mulishly. "Look, can we get her a blanket or jumpsuit or something? I'm sick of staring at her... assets."

"Sure you are," Fury said, "Get your damned fool of a head in the game, Barton." He began pacing the observation room, long coat billowing menacingly behind him. "She's agreed, but under terms. Mainly she wants you. Told her you weren't a handler, just an agent with an overblown sense of agency, but she didn't care. I made it clear that she could work WITH you, but under Coulson, and-"

Clint stopped listening, turning back to the window to stare at Natasha with newly sharp eyes. She remained motionless in her chair, eyes still fixed on her hands on the table in front of her. _She wants you..._ Clint felt a flash of something warm in his chest, before he firmly shut it down with a shake of his head. These warm flashes, these gut feelings, they would be his undoing.

Suddenly Natasha's eyes flickered up to meet his. _Impossible, the mirror is one-way._ The intensity of her stare gave Clint pause, drawing him in as she had earlier that week. He could see whole worlds in her eyes, worlds of pain and betrayal, worlds that matched his own. They called to him, beckoning him in a siren song of recognition. His brain balked, unsure whether to classify her as "friend" or "foe."

_It's going to hurt me,_ Clint thought. _It's going to kill when she deserts me, or betrays me._ For after all, this could only end badly - if he'd learned one thing from his past, it was that. He steeled his resolve before tuning back in to Fury's monologue.

"Nope, nothing doing Fury. Why bother? This is probably some sick game, she thinks I'm in her pocket because I brought her in or something. I-" Clint stopped, before shaking his head again. "Just... pair her with someone else."

Fury's glare somehow managed to be calculating as well as angry. "You're telling me you saved her life only to throw her away?"

"This is not my first rodeo." Clint retorted, keeping his gaze level with Fury's. "I know how this ends, with the body count being the least of your worries. It's happened to me twice before." _And it won't happen to me anymore,_ he finished to himself. His arms clenched at his sides involuntarily, fingers itching for bowstring and arrow shaft. For protection. For solitude.

Inexplicably, Fury's eyes softened, letting out a small breath of air as he approached Clint. "It's different this time, Agent Barton." He paused, waiting for Clint to meet his eyes, before continuing. "You are with us now, you have people to watch your back and assess your judgment."

Clint snorted. "You writing love songs now, Fury?"

"I'm serious, Barton. You said it yourself last week - she's different." Fury's look became knowing. "Trust yourself on this one. I do." He turned to walk to the door, calling over his shoulder, "Take her back to her room. We start tomorrow."

Clint tore his eyes away from Fury's retreating back, returning them once more to Natasha. Her shoulders had slumped slightly in the past few minutes, her eyes fluttering closed intermittently. _Girl is tired,_ Clint thought again. In her marked exhaustion, she seemed... younger, almost. Softer. More human. He felt the telltale flood of warmth in his gut, and some subconscious shift untangled his confusion, his brain firmly sorting her in to the "friend" category. _Well then, that's that._

"You've known a lot of girls before, Barton," he said out loud to himself. "What's the harm in knowing one more?" With one last look at her through the glass, Clint exited observation and entered interrogation.

"We meet again, Agent Barton." said Natasha upon his entrance, the sultry tone of her voice incongruous with the weariness of her posture. She straightened up, as if she could read his mind.

"Fury tells me you're one of us now," Clint said, as casually as possible.

"That's right," she said, through hooded eyes. "Maybe we'll even get to work together."

"Maybe you will break my heart next summer," Clint shot back, meeting her gaze straight on. Natasha's eyes remained cool, but Clint noticed the corner of her mouth quirk upward. _Gotcha._

"So you _do_ know how to make facial expressions. I was starting to think we'd have even more to teach you than normal." Clint couldn't keep the self-satisfaction from his voice.

Natasha scoffed. "Please, Barton, do not kid yourself about who is superior here." She paused, an odd look fleeting across her delicate features before she smoothed them back in to indifference. "You really think I'm going to break your heart?"

"Damned straight, Tasha. Mind if I call you that?" Clint queried, enjoying the way her eyes blazed at the nickname. "Whatever, it's happening. I've seen you in action. I've got your number."

She considered him. "I bet you do... Clint."

He nodded approvingly at her, noting the way her shoulder seemed to become infinitesimally more relaxed. _It's a start,_ he thought. "You'll be my first partner in a while, you know."

"An agent like you? Alone all this time? That's a crying shame," she purred, lowering her eyes demurely. "I am happy to be your first."

Clint smirked. "Not as happy as I am, Tasha."

She winced again, looking mutinous before curiosity got the better of her. "And why is that?"

“Because you’d make it quick and painless,” Clint responded, trying to keep his tone serious. "If I ever get sick of you, knock me on my head, crack it open, let me out of here.”

Natasha gaped openly at him, before noting the laughter in his eyes. A slight tint crept over her cheeks. "You are a strange man, Agent Barton."

"Correction," Clint interjected. "I am _your_ strange man. Strange partner, whatever." He was pleased to see the corner of Natasha's mouth quirk upward again. "Come on, I'll take you back. We start at 0500 and you look like you could use the rest." She nodded, casting one last look around the interrogation room where she had spent most of the last week, before rising to follow Clint out the door.


End file.
